


Crown of Ice

by lurking_in_the_background



Series: Calileach of Gaia [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Assassination Attempt(s), Assault, Attempted Murder, Blackmail, Depression, Dreams, Injury, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Past Child Abuse, Power Imbalance, Running Away, Sexual Assault, Size Difference, Slavery, Talk of mental illness, Thievery, Threats, dub-con, mind-control, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurking_in_the_background/pseuds/lurking_in_the_background
Summary: Nicivian Dominito Sharant likes to think he's a normal faerie prince. Of course, that's not the case, since in UnSeelie, a prince is unheard of, and everyone is convinced he's cursed. He's threatened, attacked, harassed, and abused, and he desperately wants to leave the UnSeelie court. He is unable to, because he is the Crown Prince, and thus the future of the court.He suffers through each day as best he can, holding onto the hope that things will be different when he is king, until his eldest sister reminds him: Nicivian might become king, but that doesn't mean he won't have an unfortunate accident..Desperate, Nicivian decides to flee, and go somewhere far, far away from his family, his court, and his imminent demise. On impulse, he steals the Crown of Ice, the crown of the UnSeelie court, and starts a chain of events that shove him headfirst down a path he never wanted, needed, or dreamed, full of political intrigue, slavery, magic, and tiny angry gods.This is the first part of Nicivian's journey.
Relationships: Original Character/Other(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Calileach of Gaia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843597
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. In Which we Meet Nicivian

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing something new! It's still sad and depressing, but hey, you wouldn't want it any other way. For reference, this is the same world Celdin, the goblins, and Kahron live in, and they may be referenced at some point, but Celdin and Kahron have little to no bearing on this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we meet Nicivian and two of his sisters, and learn that while Nicivian might be the crown prince, that doesn’t mean he is in charge, or even respected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi! Welcome to a brand new story! This time, we actually know our main character’s name, and we get to see him in his natural habitat.

Nicivian eyed his food nervously. He hadn't exactly been quiet and unobtrusive during the war meeting earlier, and Bellinda had been furious with him for disagreeing with her. Nicivian had no doubt that there was some poison in his food. He had a taster, of course, but they would never tell him if his taster died. They never had before, why would they start now?

Meanwhile, Bellinda was staring at him, eyebrow raised. “Well, Nicivian? Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked smugly, eating her own food. His fifth sister was pale and cold, with short brown hair cropped close to her ears, and the piercing blue eyes of the Sharant family; nearly identical to his own, except his own were several shades lighter, like a glacier. Her twin sister Orja sat next to her, with long coiled brown hair piled atop her head.

“Perhaps our little brother is not hungry,” Orja told her sister, calmly eating her own food. “You know how finicky he is.”

“He is _not_ my brother!” Bellinda snarled, and Nicivian flinched at the vehemence with which she uttered it. It wasn’t _exactly_ true; they had the same mother. It was the fact that Nicivian’s father hailed from Seelie that was the issue.

Many times, Nicivian had reflected on his life and wondered if it would have been easier if he had been born a girl. Then, he would fit the traditional name of the heir, people wouldn’t mind that he was half Seelie, he wouldn’t be bullied and abused, and he wouldn’t be cursed. But most of all, his family would love him.

Sure, his parents and two of his six sisters had loved him, but his mom was dead, his dad was crazy, one of the two sisters was dead, and the other was mentally incapable of understanding that he was not in fact a she.

It didn’t lessen her love for him, but he wondered if she would still love him if she was mentally healthy.

Orja looked at Nicivian, then at his plate, completely untouched. “If you are not hungry, take your food back to the kitchens and apologize, and then go to your room,” she said flatly, “There is no need for you to sit with us if you do not intend to eat.” It was clearly a dismissal, and Nicivian wilted a little. His options were either eat food he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was poisoned, or go to bed with no dinner at all.

Theoretically, he could say no, and simply come back with different food, but that would upset Orja, and while Bellinda would poison his food or have iron sewn into his clothes, Orja would simply lock him in his room for a week with no interaction with the outside. No food, no water, nothing. If he _really_ upset her, Orja would hire someone to kill him.

“Nicivian..” He tensed at the warning in Orja’s voice. She was losing patience with him. Tamping down tears for when he was in his room, he picked up his plate and stood from the table. As he turned to leave, Orja’s voice stopped him. “Have you forgotten your manners, little brother?”

Clenching his plate, he turned back around, almost mechanically, averting his eyes. “May I be excused, elder sister?”

Again, theoretically, he could have just left. He was the Crown Prince, after all. But he knew better. Nicivian might be the crown prince, but his sisters were in charge.

“Yes you may,” Orja replied. “Hmmm..” Nicivian fled. That was always a bad noise. He still heard his sisters when Orja said, “Maybe we should let him have a stint in the kitchens; he’d make a lovely servant,” and Bellinda’s laughter.

.

Nicivian tried to keep as small as possible as he made his way to the kitchens, plate still held in his hands. While he was on fair terms with a lot of the kitchen staff and a lot of the household servants, the guards were definitely his sisters’. They pinched him, pushed him, harassed him, and one had actually grabbed him and shoved his cock down the back of Nicivian’s pants before sliding up and down the cleft of his ass.

Terrified, Nicivian had kept quiet, fearing that if he made noise, the guard would actually penetrate him and rape him instead. The walk back to his room made him cry, with the feeling of sticky cum between his thighs.

Needless to say, Nicivian stayed as far away from the guards as he possibly could.

He made it to the kitchens with no incident, and the head chef simply glared at him when he apologized for wasting food. It was better than the last time, when he’d had his fingers hit with a wooden spoon.

Nicivian felt one of the kitchen women slip an apple into his pocket and pat his back. He didn’t take it out until he was safely back in his own room. He had the crown princess’s suite, as all heirs did, but it felt like less of an honor and more like a prison. He didn’t have the key to his own room; Orja had that. Everyone knew where his room was, too.

But he could at least eat his apple on the bed. He ate it all, even the core, and added the seeds to his little jar of apple seeds in his nightstand. Apples and bread were the majority of his diet, with the occasional bit of meat thrown in. A strawberry or two if he was lucky. Nicivian _adored_ strawberries. They were his favorite, but they could only be grown on the far southern coast of UnSeelie, or in Seelie, meaning they were a luxury he didn’t get to have unless his sisters were feeling nice.

But the result of such a diet meant he was skinny and underfed, along with rather small. He rarely got a lot of the nutrients he needed, so he was generally undersized.

The average height and weight of a male elf from UnSeelie was six foot and roughly two hundred and fifty pounds. Nicivian was nearing the beginning of adulthood, and had long since stopped growing at around five foot seven and was only one hundred and ninety six pounds.

He looked at his little candle on his nightstand. He wasn’t allowed another until the end of the week, and this one was almost half gone. But Nicivian really wanted to read..

On impulse, he grabbed his newest book, stuck a pin in the candle where he was to stop, and lit it. Nicivian began reading, immersing himself in a place that was not here, and a life much better than his own. When the pin dropped, he reluctantly closed his book and blew out the candle.

Then, he dressed for bed in the dark and climbed into bed, burrowing as deep as he could to hide from any perceived danger. Upon not being able to fall asleep, Nicivian grabbed his blanket and a pillow and crawled under his bed to sleep. He felt much safer down here..

Nicivian fell asleep, curled in a tiny ball and wrapped up in a blanket under his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have enjoyed, and are looking forward to more of our newest baby, and all the shit I am about to put him through.
> 
> Once again, I swear I am okay.


	2. In Which Nicivian Unleashes an Ancient Power on Accident.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Nicivian realizes that he is never going to be safe, and staying in UnSeelie means either death or the life of a puppet king. He makes a split second decision and promptly fucks his life up even further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are pleased with the story so far, and will continue to read. Thank you to all my helpful humans; you make this so much easier.

When Nicivian woke up the next morning, it was to knocking on his door. A formality, really, because no one was supposed to be anywhere near his room unless Orja or Bellinda told them to come get him, and he couldn’t exactly say they couldn’t come in; he had no way to keep them out.

“One moment please!” he yelled, coming out from under his bed and depositing his bedding back on his bed. He scurried to his closet and grabbed a shirt and pants to change into, going as fast as he could as the knocking got louder and more insistent. “I’m almost done!” Nicivian told the person on the other side of the door, pulling his pants over his hips and tugging his shirt down over them.

His hair would have to wait; it wasn’t that bad anyways.

Nicivian ran and opened the door, staring up at one of Bellinda’s men. He suddenly felt very exposed in his loose, too-big shirt and close-fitting pants, and the way the guard was looking him over made his stomach turn.

“I-is something the matter?” Nicivian murmured, staring at the top of the guard’s chest plate. Anywhere but his face.

The guard reached out and lifted a bit of Nicivian’s hair. “Lady Bellinda requires your presence in the sparring ring,” the faerie said casually, rubbing the lock of iridescent black hair between two of his armored fingers. “It’s very pretty, you know,” the guard told him, a low tone to his voice that made Nicivian nervous, “your hair. If you were a woman, you would have been married off before you knew it.”

Nicivian began trembling. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. There was a sharp pull on his hair and his eyes snapped up to the guard.

“I just gave you a compliment,” the guard said quietly, as if reminding him of something. “What do you say when someone compliments you?” Another little tug forced a little “Th-thank you!” from Nicivian, and his hair was dropped.

His relief was short lived, because the hand moved to rest on the small of his back and he let himself be guided down to the sparring ring. The hand occasionally stroked his side, or pet his spine, but it crept lower, and by the time they had arrived, the guard’s hand was openly resting on Nicivian’s ass.

The door was opened, and a quick swat on his rear made Nicivian bolt inside, tears prickling at his eyes.

“Are you going to stand there all day, idiot?” Bellinda yelled at him from the far end of the ring, and Nicivian ran to her. He didn’t want to upset Bellinda in a room full of sharp, deadly weapons. When he found her, Bellinda was testing out the weight of a broadsword, swinging it in a lazy arc. Another lay against the wall.

“Do you want me to fight?” Nicivian asked nervously. He wasn’t all that good with a sword; they were generally too heavy for him. A little dagger or a knife though, or a short bow, those he could use. But his sisters called those a coward’s weapons, and wouldn’t let him practice with them.

The kitchen ladies, however, often let him come down to the kitchens and practice throwing knives and slicing on butcher meat. Coincidentally, he knew how to properly butcher a cow.

Bellinda scoffed at him. “Of course not. You’re a baby, and babies don’t use weapons.” She threw a rag at his face. “Babies clean the armor.” The obvious jab at his size hurt; he was actually almost an adult, and it was their fault he was this tiny!

“I’m not a baby!” Nicivian blurted before he could stop himself. He watched in terror as Bellinda’s gaze turned darker. “Go clean the armor, you useless brat, before you do something you regret,” she growled.

That sounded like a safe idea, his rational brain said, but that teeny-tiny irrational part had already shoved it out of the way.

“I’m not useless either,” he snapped, twisting the rag his hands, “I can do all the things you and Orja do!” Bellinda grabbed his arm tightly, and he managed not to squeak in pain.

“I’ll be nice and give you one more chance,” she hissed, “Go clean the armor, and I will pretend none of this little outburst happened. I won’t even tell Orja about this little scene you’ve made. But so help me Nicivian, if you continue throwing a fit, I will make you wish you had never been born.”

‘A bit of a hollow threat, seeing as my own sisters make that happen every day,’ he thought sullenly.

Only when Bellinda slapped him with here armored hand and he fell to the ground did he realize he’d said that out loud.

He looked up at her, and finally, his rational brain took over, too little too late, because she had him by the hair, tugging him to his feet harshly. “I am _not,_ nor will I _ever_ be, your sister!” Bellinda roared, throwing him into the ring. Tears split down his cheeks, as he skittered as far away as he possibly could.

“You want to be a big boy? You want to be king? Is that what you want?!” she screamed at him, “Well I got news for you, being king isn’t gonna save you! If you get killed, then guess who gets your throne? If you die now, who gets your throne? We do! We win either way! It makes no difference if I kill you here or if some terrible _accident_ happens and kills you, because we win!”

Nicivian was hyperventilating now. Bellinda was going to kill him, and it was all because he’d had to say something! Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?!

There were tears all over his face, and dust from the dirty ring under him was smeared over one side of his face. “Please don’t kill me..!” Nicivian whimpered quietly, pulling his knees to his chest, some instinct telling him to be as small as possible. Bellinda just laughed at him. “We’d be doing everyone a favor!” She kicked his head with her heavy armored boot, and Nicivian cried out in pain. “You’re a pathetic little baby playing at being a prince! You’d make an awful king! It would make everyone’s life better if you were gone!”

Nicivian certainly felt like a baby; he was crying on the ground, covered in dirt, and there was nothing he could do to make his antagonist stop hurting him.

Suddenly, Bellinda stopped. He looked up hesitantly, and wished he hadn’t: Orja was glaring at him with murder in her eyes.

“You’re pathetic,” she spat, and grabbed his hair, yanking him up before she threw him down on his back. “Don’t move. If you move, it will go worse for you,” she snarled. Nicivian was too afraid to move anyways. Orja was _furious_. Not even Bellinda got in Orja’s way when she was furious. The tears returned in full force.

He watched as Orja returned, and the panic in his chest doubled when she held up a red hot dagger. She must have heated it with the forge.

Orja knelt so she was sitting on his chest and pinning his arms with her knees. Almost gently, she brushed his hair away from his ears. “Don’t want that pretty hair to get damaged, do we?” she purred, and Nicivian began struggling.

The knife was above his nose, and Orja grabbed his face to hold it still. “You should have listened to your big sister and gone to clean the armor like a good baby brother,” Orja said, moving the knife away from his face, “Hopefully this will teach you to listen and do what you’re told.”

The knife hovered over the pointed tip of his left ear, and he began kicking his legs desperately. “Move too much, baby brother, and I might miss. You don’t want me to cut off your whole ear, do you?” Orja’s threat made him still, albeit reluctantly.

Before he could start pleading, pain erupted in his left ear as Orja sliced the very tip off. He screamed, and his legs kicked, tears streamed down his face. Then there was a second cut, and a third, then she sat back. “There,” she said, satisfied.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. Each time you refuse to listen, we’ll take a little more off, until you have ears like a little human. Then we’ll sell you off. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

Nicivian shook his head. Orja glared, until he added, “No, sister..!” Then, she smiled, patted his head, and stood. “Let’s leave him to his cleaning, then,” Orja told Bellinda, taking her twin’s arm and leading her back inside. “Maybe the kitchen will have some pots for him to scrub too. Then he can have lunch, if he does a good enough job.”

They left Nicivian laying on the ground, crying and holding his ear. Bellinda and Orja weren’t the only ones who wanted him gone, he thought miserably. ‘I’d like me to disappear too..’

Sitting up, he looked tiredly at the piles of dust-covered armor. He could only _imagine_ what the kitchen would have for him. Maybe if he disappeared, everyone would be better off. Bellinda and Orja could fight over the crown, no one would have to get in trouble to make sure he lived, the kitchen ladies wouldn’t have to worry if he had food, and the healers could worry about _real_ issues instead of his tiny cuts and bruises and the poison and burns..

But mostly he wouldn’t be a bother. He wouldn’t get in the way. If he disappeared, then no one would have a reason to hurt him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt.

He thought briefly about killing himself, but decided against it; he wanted to _live_. Nicivian settled into running away.

.

After a long, exhausting day of cleaning armor, pots, having no lunch, cleaning lunch’s dishes, getting no dinner, and cleaning up after dinner, and getting some cold leftovers before being sent to bed, the last thing Nicivian wanted was to run.

But it had to be tonight, because he doubted he would have the resolve tomorrow. Quickly, he stuffed a change of clothes, two of his favorite books and his unfinished book, his jewelry, and his little sketchbook and charcoal into a bag before swinging his heavy cloak over his shoulders and sneaking into the kitchens. He grabbed a half loaf of bread, some apples, and some cheese for food, and a knife for protection, and then he began sneaking towards the servants’ entrance.

As Nicivian passed a dark hallway, he stopped. There was something there, pulling at him. Like a thread tied around his finger. Hesitantly, he began in that direction. The further in he went, the stronger the pull got, until it felt like he was being dragged. He felt it strongest when he was outside a plain black door, and he pushed it open. There was a rattle, and the doorknob fell off, completely covered in frost.

And there, sitting on a black stone pedestal, was the Crown of Ice.

The Crown belonged to the Queen of UnSeelie, and was supposedly full of icy winter magic. It was a circle of enchanted ice that never melted, with sharp, pointed spikes of ice jutting towards the ceiling. The ice was a very pale blue, almost like his eyes, and it was so shiny..

Nicivian was stepping forward to touch it before he was conscious of the fact he was doing so. The temperature was dropping with each step he took, until his breath was turning into a white cloud as he placed a finger on the tip of the forward most spike.

The Crown exploded. There was no other word to describe what happened, as the Crown broke into millions of tiny pieces and a wave of magic that threw Nicivian into the opposite wall, and disappearing as it made contact with the terrified faerie prince.

His ears were ringing, and he could hear screeching from above. Bellinda and Orja no doubt felt the Crown explode, and had discovered he had tried to flee.

They were going to kill him. Nicivian began crying again, and whimpered as his tears froze and snow clung to his lashes. A sword punched through the door, followed by Bellinda’s arm. Screaming, Nicivian threw himself backwards and flung up an arm to protect himself.

There was a whooshing sound, a scream of pain, and what sounded like collapsing stone. Carefully, Nicivian opened his eyes, and was momentarily frozen in shock.

The room was full of long, sharp, glittering ice spears, similar to the Crown’s points, and there was a hole blown through the ceiling towards the back, with light streaming through. Bellinda was screaming in pain, and upon looking towards the door, he saw why: her sword had absorbed the magic thrown out into the room, and passed it through Bellinda’s hand, leaving it black, gnarled, and frostbitten so badly it looked burnt.

Horrified, Nicivian scrambled away towards his opening, and began to climb out, sick to his stomach.

Luckily, there was a window nearby that had been shattered by the ice, and he wasted no time climbing out and down before running for the gate. Deathly afraid of killing someone, Nicivian moved swiftly and quietly, and found a place he could climb the wall. He pulled himself up freehanded and clambered up and over.

The moment his boots hit the ground, he ran into the forest, snow just starting to fall.


	3. In Which Things go from Bad to Way, Way Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Nicivian flees from his sisters, he runs into orcish territory. And while the elves of UnSeelie are technically in charge, it doesn’t mean that the orcs have to listen to any outside the Queen.

Nicivian was panicking. Even though he had escaped the palace, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be caught. There was still Orja’s men to worry about: the Wild Hunt.

A band of ruthless faerie knights in the service of the Sharant family, they only followed the orders of the Queen. Since no one had expected Nicivian to ever become King, they reported to Orja, who was as cold and ruthless as they came. They faithfully executed Orja’s every order, to the letter, and submitted to punishment if they failed.

And they were pursuing him. Tears slipped down his face as he ran, freezing to his cheeks until he had to wipe the ice away from the substantial buildup. Nicivian could hear whoops and laughter from behind him, along with hoofbeats thudding into the snow.

He had no doubt Orja had told them to do whatever they wanted with him and then kill him.

Nicivian could see the edge of the forest, and he ran that much harder. The hoofbeats and laughter were getting closer, and he could hear swearing now too. They’d figured out what he was going for; if he could just make it out of the forest, the Wild Hunt couldn’t follow him. They would be trespassing on another race’s territory.

The tree line was almost within reach when an arrow zipped by his left ear; it would have pierced it had Orja not cut off the tip and a small part of the top.

Nicivian let out a sob as another went just over his head, just past his outstretched hand, grazing his cheek-

He burst out of the forest as one arrow embedded itself into the back of his right thigh, sending him tumbling to the ground and crying out in pain. The Wild Hunt pulled their horses up short, still within the forest, and glared at him.

“Let’s just grab him,” one said angrily, gesturing to Nicivian. “It’s not like anyone’s going to see it!” Another shook his head. “No, we can’t risk it.” A third stood up in his stirrups, and looked Nicivian over. “Bloody shame, he’s prettier than the Ladies,” he sighed, “probably could’ve worked out some sort of arrangement with the Ladies for him.”

Nicivian began trembling, pulling himself further away from them. If they did decide to grab him, he was going to make sure he was far enough that it could be clearly seen he was no longer in their territory before he screamed. “Please leave me alone..! I won’t bother anybody anymore, just please let me go!” he pleaded, looking up at them.

He could hear them laughing, and one pulled out her bow. “Well, we could, but that goes against our Ladies’ desires,” she sneered, nocking an arrow and leveling the point at Nicivian’s head, “so don’t move, and this won’t hurt too much.”

Nicivian scrambled away as quickly as he could with one useless leg, the arrow just missing his face. He heard swearing, and one dropped off her horse. “Alright fine, you little bastard,” she snarled, drawing her sword. “I’ll come get you.”

He began screaming, as the knights behind the woman began swearing, and the woman ran at him.

The ice reappeared, a bright sharp spear, and it pierced the woman’s chest plate, impaling her. Nicivian screamed even louder at this; he didn’t want to kill her! Tears were freezing to his cheeks again, and the wind began to pick up, flinging tiny icy spears around him.

Terrified did not cover what he was feeling right now.

The ice was taking a lot out of him, and he began to feel tired and heavy, like his bones were made of stone. To top it off, he was starting to feel cold. Like he was slowly being frozen from the inside out. Magic used up a significant amount of energy, and Nicivian was running out fast. Any second now, he was going to fall unconscious, and the Wild Hunt would kill him. 

His head was pounding, and the ice storm was peetering out into a flurry. Nicivian was still crying hysterically, but it felt like his breath was freezing in his chest. The world was getting hazy, colors smearing together like acrylic paints, and then the colors were fading, as awareness began to slip away. He fell onto his side, whimpering as the arrow in his thigh shifted around. The Hunt advanced, all mirth gone from their demeanors, and Nicivian's tears clouded his vision. He was going to die after all..

An arrow slammed into the throat of one of the knights, and he was roughly scooped up. Nicivian might have screamed as his leg was jostled, but he received a sharp blow to the back of his head and fell limp, dead to the world.

.

Nicivian awoke in a black void, like a space yet unformed, and was not entirely surprised nothing hurt. _Maybe I'm dead,_ he thought, a little sadly. "You ain't dead _quite_ yet, sweetie," came a strange voice, and Nicivian was taken aback by the strange accent. He had never heard anything like it, and quite frankly, it was unsettling. The voice was a light, breezy tenor, distinctly male, and still disembodied. "You're just sleepin', s'all!"

"S-so this is a dream?" Nicivian asked the darkness. "I'm asleep?" He screeched as a pale form appeared directly in front of him. “Darling, if you weren’t, I’d be rather concerned,” the form said, and Nicivian scrambled backwards. The voice had a body now, but the body looked dead: purest white skin, and black hair somehow darker than the void around them, and bloodless lips. He was clothed in grey, purple, black, and sliver, with a swirling emblem on his dark grey tunic. The eyes creeped him out the most; they were like a pair of coruscating diamonds set in his face, and were never the same color twice in a row.

“W-Who are you?!” Nicivian squeaked, looking down slightly at the ghostly elf. “I, child of the Moon, am Vanestine Tara, but I would love it if you called me Tara,” the smaller male replied, pale thin lips pulling back into a ghastly sharp-toothed smile.

Every elf-child knew the story of Bloody Vanestine Tara, the fallen god of the Nightmare Realm. They say he used to be the angel of the star sign Aries, but he became infatuated with world domination, and was cast out of the heavens, forever to lurk in the darkness of the nightmares he brought to mortals.

It was also said the fall had turned Tara bat-shit crazy.

“You seem t’be in some deep-ass shit,” Tara continued, seemingly oblivious to Nicivian’s panic. “I’m inclined to agree. Orcs aren’t the nicest of hosts, ‘specially not to elves.” Diamond eyes glittered. “How ya gettin’ out of this?”

"Cause trust me, lil' one. You ain't gettin' out of this unless you are willing to lose every scrap of dignity you got, and maybe.." Tara drew closer, his grin turning rather feral. "..Maybe a lil somethin' extra." Nicivian abruptly found himself unable to move, as Tara got so close their noses were almost touching. Gleaming diamond eyes drifted to Nicivian's mutilated ear. "Aw," the crazed god cooed, stroking the scarred edge with unbearably cold fingers. "Poor lil' one. Your sisters are nasty lil' shits, huh?"

Nicivian nodded minutely, trembling. Tara's fingers gently massaged the damaged tissue, and despite the terror in his chest, Nicivian leaned into it. It felt very nice, to have someone pet him and make him feel better. "Well, it's for the best you look pitiable and sad," Tara sighed. That startled Nicivian out of his reprieve. 

"Wh-what?" he whimpered, as Tara patted his head. "Well, considering your situation, pretty, powerful, small, and pitiable is definitely the way to go," the dark god said brightly, and kissed him between the eyes. Nicivian jolted awake.

.

Nicivian woke with a soft moan, his head throbbing and his leg burning. The arrow had been removed and his leg had been bandaged, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like Aries.

He looked around, half expecting to be in the dungeons of UnSeelie. Instead, he was in a nice room, on a soft bed, with warm blankets pulled up to his chin. Nicivian noticed his clothes on a chair by a fireplace, along with his bag. His cloak was thrown over the blankets piled on top of him.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t hot or sweaty. Just comfortably warm.

This might have lingered longer in his head, but the door slammed open, and a tall orc stalked in.

His skin was ashy grey, and his hair was long, coarse, and white. Two short horns jutted from his forehead, and what looked like scales dotted the sides of his face and the backs of his hands. The orc wore thick pants and a blue coat with sliver embroidery thrown over a white undershirt. Yellow eyes snapped to Nicivian’s wide pale blue ones, and grey lips peeled back in a snarl, baring long white teeth, designed for rending flesh and crushing bones.

“So, little shtivi,” the orc growled, moving towards the bed, “you’re finally awake.” Nicivian was frozen, pinned under the tawny gaze. He felt like a bunny in the eyes of wolf. A scared whimper bubbled through his lips as the orc bent down to face him. “Hmmmm..”

Nicivian’s chin was seized, and grey stony fingers pushed his lips back, running over his teeth, inspecting them. Satisfied, the orc squeezed Nicivian’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open.

There was a strong urge to bite down, but Nicivian instinctively clamped down on it. He knew better than to bite someone stronger than him...

He squeaked when rough fingers pressed down on and rubbed his tongue, and when fingers probed behind his teeth, exploring his mouth.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” the orc chuckled, stroking Nicivian’s tongue. “I’ll bet we’re even more sensitive the further down we go.” The fingers left Nicivian’s mouth, and his face was turned this way and that, his eyes opened wide and examined, the coloring of his skin, until his mutilated ear was tugged on. There was a quiet huff, and the orc thumbed the injury for a moment.

“It’s not too bad,” the orc decided finally, “not noticeable unless you know what you’re looking for.” His face was dropped, and Nicivian was pulled from the covers and hit with a wave of chilly air. He flinched and started shivering.

The orc only laughed. “Poor shtivi, is it too cold?” Nicivian felt those rough fingers scratch behind his ears, like a hunter petting his dog. He started melting into the touch, his brain getting comfortably fuzzy. “Yes..” he managed, moving his head further into the petting. That felt so _good_..

A heavy blanket was draped around his shoulders, and he was given more pets. “You’re a spoiled little shtivi, aren’t you,” the orc chuckled, and Nicivian nodded, the words not penetrating into his brain. “Heh, yeah, I figured,” the orc continued, “and you’re gonna be even more spoiled by the time His Highness is done with you.”

The petting stopped, and the orc left, giving his words time to sink into Nicivian’s brain.

The orc King. The orc King was going to take him.

Nicivian knew all the nasty rumors surrounding the orc King; his sisters had told him that the King was _very_ fond of smaller males, and threatened to ship him off with a political marriage to the King if he didn’t do what they wanted.

He knew there was blood, injuries, death, and a shallow grave awaiting any the King took to bed. And Nicivian had accidentally just sold himself into slavery; likely to this selfsame King.

‘ _This just got way worse_ ,’ Nicivian thought dismally.


	4. In Which Nicivian can't Focus on the Problem at Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicivian meets the King, and tries to escape.
> 
> Tries being the keyword here.
> 
> If only there weren’t so many nice pets...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note about elvish anatomy: those long pointy ears have extra nerves and ligaments. They can perk up, droop down, sort of like a dog or a cat’s ears. But those extra nerves mean pets and scratches feel really good, and getting hurt there is the worst. If you think about it like cat ears, you should be good.

Nicivian had fallen into a rather uncomfortable sleep after the events of the morning, and a great deal of commotion woke him.

He had a very basic knowledge of Orcish, so he could understand a little bit of the scattered voices outside his door; the conversation seemed to center around someone’s early arrival.

If the voices weren’t getting closer, he wouldn’t have worried. Nicivian considered climbing under the bed to hide. But then the door opened, and a burst of yelling slammed into him, causing a flash of pain to spear into his head as he clapped his hands over his ears.

An orc entered, with skin blacker than coal, and long white hair braided into a thousand tiny braids threaded with bone, metal, and coins. Jet black ebony horns curled up from his forehead and back over his head. The tusks poking from his lower lip were as long as Nicivian’s middle finger, and they were sharp-looking. Bright yellow eyes snapped to ice-blue ones, and a slow grin showed off sharp teeth that could easily tear Nicivian’s throat out.

A little whimper left Nicivian at the sight, and he scooted back as far as he could with his injured leg.

The orc chuckled, and moved closer. “Aw, poor little shtivi,” he cooed in perfect Elvish, and moved Nicivian’s hands from his ears, “I bet all that noise scared you, huh?” Nicivian nodded, definitely scared, but not entirely for the reasons the orc thought.

His brain turned to mush again when black fingers began rubbing his ears, scratching the bases, the undersides, rubbing the tips. “Mm-mm...” he sighed, a loopy smile drifting across his face. The orc chuckled. “You like that? Does this little shtivi like being pet and loved on like the sweet baby he is?”

Nicivian nodded; oh yes, yes he did, he was the sweetest baby, by far! He deserved all the pets! Nobody had ever given him pets in so long, and he was enjoying being pet.

The orc laughed, and gently scooped Nicivian up. “Look at you, pretty baby! You’re so small, you’re the perfect size for carrying and holding.” The haze of pets hadn’t left him yet, and he was feeling nice and safe. His entire torso fit nicely in one of the orc’s arms, and his legs were being held in such a way there wouldn’t be too much strain on them.

“All of my men say this is a scary shtivi. Are you a scary shtivi, baby?” The question was so silly; babies weren’t scary! And he was the sweetest baby.. right?

Distantly he remembered vehemently telling someone that he _wasn’t_ a baby. But that wasn’t right.. was it? His mind felt too fuzzy to think properly.

He pushed past the hazy fog in his brain and arrived at the memory of yesterday in the sparring ring, of yelling at Bellinda, and having the tip of his ear cut off. Nicivian tried to scrunch up, to pull his legs in to his chest, but he instead felt his wounded leg send a jolt of pain throughout his body.

Tears began flowing again, and he cried harder when they froze to his cheeks. One black finger tapped the end of his delicate nose. “Aw, poor little shtivi. I don’t think you’re very _scary_ ,” the orc assured him, rubbing at his ice-encrusted cheeks, “I think you’re very _scared_. Does all this ice scare you?” Nicivian nodded, sniffling pathetically.

“Y-you’re much scarier th-than me, sir,” Nicivian said quietly, rubbing the ice from his eyelashes. The orc blinked for a moment, then burst into laughter. Nicivian squeaked in shock, pressing as close as possible to look smaller.

“You’re a smart little shtivi!” the orc told him, and gave him a squeeze. Nicivian blurted “Thank you!” before the squeezing could cut off his oxygen, vividly remembering the hair-pulling. He didn't want to get crushed.

“I think I’ll keep you, shtivi,” the orc informed him, “I’m tired of demanding, conniving shtiis, who think they’re indispensable because they’re pretty. I want you! You’re tiny and cute, and you know who’s in charge, don’t you shtivi?” Nicivian nodded again, and squealed when the orc stood suddenly. "If you stay out of trouble, shtivi, I'll make sure you have everything a little shtivi like you could ever want."

The orc walked to the door, Nicivian still firmly tucked up against him, and kicked it with one booted foot. He stepped back, the door opened, and Nicivian's sensitive ears were assaulted with noise again. His hands went to cover his ears, when the noise stopped suddenly. "Be quiet," the orc snapped at the others, switching back to Orcish, "you'll hurt my shtivi's ears." The group collectively bowed, and several murmured an apology. And Nicivian's stomach dropped. He'd forgotten this whole business of the orc King coming to get him in the haze of pets, being held, and being called a baby.

The orc King appeared to not have noticed Nicivian's realization, and turned to a young orc girl with black hair tied in two plaits. He said something to her, which Nicivian gathered to mean, "Get his things, don't break or steal anything, or else." The girl curtsied, and ducked into the room, then came out a moment later with Nicivian's things, even his cloak. Then, he was carried to a different room, one which he could safely assume was the King's room. "Alright, little shtivi," the King said in Elvish, setting Nicivian carefully on the bed so the smaller sitting upright, with the wound on his thigh just slightly off the bed, "Let's you and I go over a few things, so you don't get hurt, okay?"

The implication was not lost on Nicivian, who just nodded mutely.

"One: you will call me one of three things; my lord, your Highness, or Master A'kathci. If I find I like something else in private, we'll work out other rules for that." Nicivian nodded. "Yes, my lord," he murmured, feeling a vague sense of deja vu.

"Good. Two: you will wear what I give you, and you won't take it off unless I give you permission."

"Yes my lord.."

"Three: baby shtivi like you aren't allowed to wander around by themselves. You will either have me or somebody I trust with you when you leave your room, or you won't be leaving period."

"Yes my lord.." Nicivian wilted a little at that rule. It wasn't that he didn't get where A'kathci was coming from; he still vividly remember the Hallway Incident with the guards. He just wanted to have the ability to explore. Nicivian had always liked exploring, and this was a new place. He felt his ears being rubbed, and his head was tilted up. "Don't be sad, shtivi," A'kathci cooed, "I know my poor baby shtivi wants to go exploring, but it's too dangerous. We don't want you to get grabbed up, do we?" Nicivian shook his head, purring softly.

"Okay then, finally, we have four: I don't care what your name was before. You're _my_ baby shtivi, and _I_ get to name you." He stopped petting me and tapped my cheeks. "I think Ciru'nar is perfect." Nicivian tilted his head. "What does it mean, my lord?"

A'kathci grinned. "If you call me 'Master A'kathci' I might tell you." Nicivian felt his ears warm. "M-master A'kathci.. will you please tell me what my name means?" This was humiliating, he thought, and Tara's words came back to him. Lose his dignity and something else. Oh boy..

"Of course, since you asked so nicely," A'kathci told him. "Ciru'nar means 'little ice prince'." Nicivian felt the color leave his face as A'kathci's grin turned sharper. "Suits you quite well, doesn't it, princeling?"


	5. In Which Nicivian Loses his Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicivian has been discovered. If he doesn’t want to go back to his sisters, he has to do what A’kathci says. Even if it entails the most embarrassing things he has ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh heh heh.. maybe I’ll draw some of this..

Nicivian suddenly felt cold, and not in the way he had slowly become accustomed to. A’kathci knew who he was.

“I-I’m-” he started, eyes growing wide. A’kathci raised a hand. “Think long and hard, shtivi, about what you are about to say to me,” the much bigger orc warned, “I don’t want to have to punish you for lying.” Nicivian whimpered softly, and didn’t meet A’kathci’s eyes.

After a moment of silence, A’kathci reached over and picked the terrified faerie up by the underarms. “You know, I thought the fabled prince of UnSeelie would be taller than this.”

Nicivian made a pained noise; gravity was causing his leg to dangle, and it hurt. A’kathci set him so his face was pressed to the orc’s neck, and he was held with one hand on his back and one under his ass. It was better, but now he was uncomfortable for different reasons.

“We’ll get you some new clothes soon, princeling,” A’kathci told him, patting the soft curve of Nicivian’s small ass, “I assume you would prefer to be here rather than in your sisters’ dungeon?” And Nicivian was left with no option but to nod defeatedly. _At least someone is pleased with my existence,_ he thought miserably.

.

Several hours later, Nicivian was severely questioning whether or not he should have chosen to go back. The new clothes A’kathci found for him were either mature and revealing, or childish and revealing, and he suspected A’kathci, given his wish for a new kind of -what was Nicivian now, anyways? A pleasure slave? A pet?- companion, was partial to the childish ones.

That would have been fine, if they weren’t so.. feminine. Light, breezy shifts with lace straps and pretty little embroidered flowers on them, ribbon bows that went in his hair or around his neck, and he was deathly afraid of being made to wear that ridiculous little sailor shirt and the little shorts that went with it.

He quite preferred the little dresses.

Which was why he was wearing a white shift that came down to the middle of his thighs, with little violets on the hems and lace straps and on the top edge. A'kathci was delighted with how it looked, and had promptly picked him up and carried him around for the rest of the day to show him off. 

"The only thing that ruins your whole look, shtivi," A'kathci told him, rubbing Nicivian's stomach, "is those bandages around your poor leg. You'll be perfect when you're all healed." Nicivian was learning a _lot_ about his body. For starters, his ears were the most sensitive parts of his body aside from his cock. If they were scratched the right way, everything left his mind, and he melted completely. The second, was that he really liked having his stomach rubbed. It felt nice, like he was being loved on, and even if it was A'kathci, and even if it was only to comfort a pet in a new environment, it felt like someone cared for him.

"I think I'll get you more, pretty shtivi," A'kathci cooed, kissing his cheek, "I rather like these little dresses." Nicivian would have wiggled a little, but he was on A’kathci’s lap, and his legs were draped over A’kathci’s. He endured the kisses, until he felt large hands on his thin waist and the back of his head.

His head was turned, and Nicivian managed a squeak before he was brutally kissed, sharp tusks scratching at his cheeks, and his lips being forced open around A’kathci’s tongue. He screwed his eyes shut to prevent himself from crying; that would only make it worse, just like the Hallway Incident.

A soft noise escaped him, however, when A’kathci’s hand began fondling his ass. It felt good, and it wasn’t too invasive, he could deal with it; that’s what he kept telling himself. “You’re so small, Ciru’nar,” A’kathci purred, pulling away from the kiss and wiping a little blood from Nicivian’s cheek, “I think I might break you if I tried to fuck you right now.”

Nicivian whimpered, and A’kathci chuckled as the beads of blood on his cheeks froze into red crystals like teeny rubies. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you all ready,” the orc told him, pushing iridescent black hair out of the smaller’s face, “it’s much more consideration, I’m sure, than your sisters and their Wild Hunt would give you, hm?”

There was a quick kiss on Nicivian’s cheek, and then A’kathci simply held him while the former prince trembled. He was well and truly trapped.

.

It didn’t take long for A’kathci to start getting Nicivian ‘ready’. A few days later, at most. A’kathci preferred to dress Nicivian himself in whatever he felt like, and it only cemented the fact that A’kathci viewed him as a child, in some twisted, sexual way.

Today, instead of the usual pretty little dresses with embroidered flowers and lace, A’kathci pulled out the little sailor shirt and shorts. “These will work better for what I have planned for today,” he explained, picking Nicivian up by the waist and dropping him on the bed. He dropped the clothes on a chair, climbed on the bed, and flipped Nicivian over suddenly, so he was on his stomach, with A’kathci between his legs.

The elf began to panic. He was only just beginning to grasp what Tara meant, and it was terrifying. He felt icy tears freezing to his cheeks, and ice welling up inside him. _No, no, no! Stop that!_ he thought desperately, _You’ll get us killed!_ The ice slowly began to calm down, only to spike again in his chest when he felt a wet finger press against his hole.

“You’re going to have to relax, princeling,” A’kathci told him, massaging a handful of the pale skin of Nicivian’s ass, “or this will hurt.” Nicivian did not want it to hurt! He was all done with hurting, thank you very much! He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to relax as much as possible.

Only to tense right back up when A’kathci’s finger slid into his hole, right up to the first knuckle. There was a long-suffering sigh. “Ciru’nar.. relax. At this rate, there’s no point in me preparing you, because it’s going to hurt either way.”

“I-I’m trying,” Nicivian sniffled, trying again. If he relaxed, this might feel okay. He could pretend he wasn’t being raped. At least A’kathci was being a considerate rapist. If he relaxed, then this would be over quickly.

He managed to relax enough for A’kathci to fit his finger in completely, and his fingers dug into the pillow in front of him. Nicivian felt horribly uncomfortable; he wasn’t supposed to have things in his ass, and besides, it felt strange!

Then, A’kathci began slowly moving his finger.

Nicivian gasped as the feeling of strangeness disappeared and was replaced with the tiny buds of arousal, his cock twitching and hardening. He heard A’kathci chuckle softly, and then there were _two_ large fingers in his ass.

It felt way better than he was willing to admit, and he had to remind himself that he _definitely_ _did not want this_ _._

“See, Ciru’nar? It feels good, doesn’t it?” A’kathci purred, rubbing Nicivian’s back and hips, “It only gets better from here.”

A’kathci began moving his fingers faster, scissoring them, until he hit one spot inside Nicivian that was simultaneously painful and pleasurable, and a moan fell from his lips despite his best efforts to the contrary. “Mmmnngh!” Nicivian’s toes curled, his whole body tensing. It was almost painful, his leg hurt from the contraction of his muscles, and he felt so _hot_ -

And then he was hit with a wall of euphoria, as the tension left his body, and he dropped limply to the bedsheets, almost not feeling the wet spot pressed conspicuously against his front.

A’kathci pulled his fingers out, and Nicivian made a soft noise. He didn’t know if it was protest, need, or relief. It didn’t matter, a few seconds later, because A’kathci slipped something _else_ into his hole. It was cold and hard, and when A’kathci pulled back, the thing stayed in.

Immediately, Nicivian’s hands began moving to pull it out. A sharp slap on his hands stopped him from doing so. “That stays in,” A’kathci warned, “and you won’t touch it.” The threat was unnecessary. Nicivian could feel it in the air, unspoken but present.

He had only disobeyed A’kathci once, and the orc had simply sighed, flipped Nicivian over his knee, and- to his horror -given him a spanking. It had hurt like Aries, and he hadn’t been able to sit properly for the rest of the day, and a little of the next morning. A’kathci had promised that the next time he had to be disciplined, it would hurt a lot more.

Nicivian was reluctant to experience worse.

So, the frightened elf tucked his hands to his chest as A’kathci sat him upright. The pressure on the object pushed it further into him, and he forced down a moan. The object was getting cold, and while that would have generally made him uncomfortable, he was definitely used to having things in contact with his skin get cold.

Sometimes they froze.

A’kathci, not one to be put off, simply bought Nicivian gloves. He himself had endured far worse than an icy-cold shtivi, or so he said.

The gloves always went on first, then little socks. Nicivian had discovered- rather painfully -that he didn’t get to wear underwear unless A’kathci said so. And even then, they tended to be in the same vein as his dresses; light, breezy, and feminine. And always, always childish: plain white panties with a little ribbon bow in the front, sometimes soft bloomers, and he had once been threatened with pumpkin pants. He didn’t know what pumpkin pants were, but he didn’t want to find out.

He was given a little pair of sky blue panties, which he eyed with distrust. While he had become accustomed wearing panties or nothing at all, these seemed.. smaller.

“Are you going to wear them or not?” A’kathci demanded, coming back over with Nicivian’s clothes. “Y-yes!” Nicivian squeaked, slipping them on quickly. He had been correct; the panties hugged his hips tightly, and didn't quite cover his ass all the way. His cock felt suffocated already. To make matters worse, they squeezed his hips in such a way it jostled the object every time he moved!

The shorts and shirt were quickly put on, and a soft ribbon was tied under the collar of his shirt. “There! Now you’re a sweet little shtivi for me.” A'kathci looked inordinately pleased, and brought him to the mirror, with minor difficulty from his panties and the object. Nicivian wanted to curl up and die. 

He looked so utterly, ridiculously childish, and he _still_ managed to look like A'kathci's fucktoy. There was no way in Oblivion anybody would have ever thought him to be former royalty. The realization caused mixed feelings, but the predominant one was humiliation.

Nicivian was deathly terrified of losing _more_ than this; there was nothing, _nothing,_ worse than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of course our poor baby is wrong! Don't worry, he gets fucked real soon. I swear. Scout's honor.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated; they make my day!


	6. In Which Nicivian is Dragged Halfway Across the Continent to Lose Way More than his Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A’kathci takes Nicivian back to the orcish capital, where he loses that other thing.. 
> 
> Also: a wild Tara appears!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless smut. A little bit of plot.
> 
> Should be fun!

Nicivian was relieved to be free of those ridiculous little panties and what turned out to be a glass phallus. A’kathci had fingered him again until Nicivian had made a complete mess of himself, then had come himself on Nicivian’s back.

While A’kathci had wiped Nicivian’s own seed off the slender elf, he had left the his own sticky mess on Nicivian’s back. It felt absolutely disgusting and made his skin crawl as the cum dried, but A’kathci insisted. “It’s marking, Ciru’nar,” he’d explained, “and it’s a necessary thing. When we get home, it won’t dry on your pretty skin, okay?”

That didn’t make Nicivian feel any better.

Regardless, he was free of his tight panties, that uncomfortable phallus, and that god-awful outfit. He was laying in a comfy bed, and feeling minimally cold, considering the circumstances.

A’kathci had told him that he had work to do, so he was by himself for the night. Nicivian wasn’t allowed to leave the room, not that he really wanted to at the moment. Exhaustion had seeped into every pore on his body, and settled deep into his bones. He had no inclination to do anything other than sleep.

Maybe that was why he wasn’t cold. He was too tired to be scared.

Nicivian’s sleepy ice blue eyes drifted shut, and he was dead to the world..

.

“Hi there, darlin’~!”

Nicivian sat bolt upright in a dark void. The same space as before with-

Tara’s face entered his field of vision, grinning. “Didja miss me?” The poor confused elf just nodded. Honestly, Tara was his favorite person in this whole mess, right now.

His life sucked.

And suddenly, it didn’t suck so much, because absolute shock graced Tara’s corpse-like face. “Wait, really?” the nightmare king demanded, grabbing Nicivian by the shoulders, “You’re not fuckin’ with me, are you?!”

When Nicivian shook his head, the diamonds Tara called eyes sparkled. “Yay!” His expression became one of pity. “You poor thing, your life is absolutely the worst, ain’t it, if you’re missin’ me.”

“Can’t really argue with that..” Nicivian managed, slightly less terrified by the smaller. “Um.. why do I keep seeing you? Exactly?”

Tara’s entire demeanor changed instantly. He was dead serious in half a second. “Because believe it or not, there are crazier, crueler things out there’n me,” he explained, “and I don’t want no one to meet them.”

Diamond eyes focused on something just slightly over Nicivian’s head, and Nicivian had the uncomfortable feeling something was watching him. According to the stories, nothing was worse than Bloody Tara. Not the 12 demons of the Underworld, not the 5 Princes of Oblivion who served Tara.

He didn’t realize he’d begun trembling, or that ice was creeping up his body, until he felt cold hands brushing ice from his hair, off his ears, his back and shoulders, and gentle petting. “If you’re not scared of him, he can’t hurt you,” Tara murmured, “nobody can hurt you unless you’re afraid of ‘em, and you get to decide what you’re afraid of.” Nicivian heard the words, and his brain processed them, and filed them away for later usage, but they didn't help him.

The feeling of thousand tiny needles stabbing his neck and back terrified him. The terror caused the ice inside him to well up, until Nicivian felt like the outside and the inside of his flesh were being stabbed. Ice was crawling up his throat, air freezing in his lungs. It was building up inside him, and it needed to be pushed out, but no matter what he did, the ice just stayed inside him.

It was almost like the ice itself was hiding from the gaze on his back, terrified. Nicivian was suddenly much more afraid; the ice inside him was only too happy to kill people in his defense, jumping and leaping at every opportunity for bloodshed unless he begged it to calm down. Now, there was something out there that made the ice want to hide.

Tara began to sing quietly, something soothing and comforting, and Nicivian and the ice began to slowly calm down. At the same time, Tara began to feel less.. tangible. Like he was fading. Nicivian would have been delighted, because his dream was likely ending, but he still felt the gaze, and the darkness felt heavier. "Please don't go," he tried to beg the fallen angel, "Please don't leave me here alone with this thing!" But his voice wouldn't work. The ice had sealed his throat shut, and Nicivian began to panic. He couldn't breathe! Desperately, he reached for Tara.

The nightmare angel simply looked at him with pity. "M'sorry, sweetie," Tara murmured, pushing iridescent black strands from Nicivian's face, "But you're just gonna have to suffer through it for a while. I'll be much more help t'ya out there than in your head.. I promise I ain't leavin' you.. not for too long, at any rate." Transparent, barely-there, and yet still cold hands cupped Nicivian's tear-streaked face. "Hey.. you're stronger than you think, honey. You're a Sharant, right? Like your mom and your big sis were? Right?" A little jerky nod. "What would your mom or your big sis do?" Tara kissed him right between the eyes, and then he vanished.

_What would mother and Lila do?_ he thought, trembling. _They'd turn around and fight. But I can't do that.. I can't even run away right._ He looked at his hands, where little flurries danced in his palms. They were so pretty.. they were so deadly, and strong, and they were _old._ He could feel it the same way he knew he was royalty; deep in his delicate bones. Something that frightened something so old.. What was Nicivian supposed to do against it?

_He could always run,_ a little voice sneered, one that sounded an awful lot like Bellinda, _after all, that's what he does, isn't it? He runs from all the scary things._

_Just like when Mother and Lila died,_ another voice laughed, this one sounding like Orja, _just like when the little baby got his punishment, and just like he's going to now._

 _You don't deserve the magic of Winter's Chill! Babies don't have magic anyways,_ Bellinda's disembodied voice hissed, _So just give it up! Give it to us!_

The words echoed round and round in his head. This wasn't his power, and he got it by accident. All he'd done was kill people with it, and he had no idea how to use it. He wasn't deserving of this power..

Nicivian opened his mouth to give it up, but all that came out of his mouth was a little flurry of snowflakes. No matter how he tried, he couldn't speak. His voice was frozen solid. Nicivian could hear the unearthly screeching of the voices in his head, and he shook his head to be rid of them. Then he froze, seeing something behind him, and suddenly, he couldn't _breathe...!_

.

He was shocked awake by water filling his airways. Nicivian immediately began trying to escape the water, to get back to the surface. Ice began forming in the water as he panicked awake, and he was pulled above the water by coal-black hands.

Nicivian began gasping for breath, hands scrabbling for purchase on black arms, coughing, spluttering, _breathing-_

_"-Can you hear me?!"_ The demand broke through the haze of panic and relief, and he tried to reply. To his horror, there was no sound, only little snowflakes. Just like his dream, he realized, and tears began slipping down his face and freezing to is cheeks. 

Residual water was freeing to his skin and clothes, and he heard swearing as it froze to his rescuer- A'kathci, he realized dimly -as he was carried from what he was coming to realize was the bathroom in his set of rooms. "Ciru'nar, can you hear me?" A'kathci demanded again, and Nicivian nodded this time.

"Can you speak?" A shake of the head, and more tears. 

"Do you have any idea what just happened?" _A nightmare,_ Nicivian wanted to say, but he was quickly realizing that the nightmare was _not_ what A'kathci had been referring to:

In his panic, it looked like he had lashed out in his sleep, and the ice along with him. Drapes and covers were torn to shreds, snowdrifts lay thick across the floor, spires of sharp ice shot out from the bed and into the walls, windows, and doors. The door to the outside had been smashed open, and snowbanks and ice walls lined the corridor. _Like an escape route,_ he realized suddenly.

There was red on the walls and some on the floor, staining pure white pink and red. There were two bodies he could see, and he almost instinctively knew that there were more.. The horror of what he saw must have been clear on his face, because A'kathci began scratching behind his ears again. "Poor little shtivi," A'kathci murmured, "you didn't mean to hurt them, did you?" Nicivian shook his head, mind getting hazy. He was being picked up, cradled, and carried off. "Perhaps we need to take this sweet little shtivi home, hm? Do you want to go home, Ciru'nar?"

Hazily, Nicivian nodded. Home sounded nice.. Wait. What?

.

The next few hours were a blur. Things were packed up, and horses were saddled. And Nicivian was completely wrapped up in soft furs, which slowly accumulated frost and ice crystals. A'kathci would dust them off periodically, kiss his nose, and pull the furs up around him. Nicivian was still wearing his pajamas, a little soft nightdress, that was made more for summer nights than the cold, and he shivered violently every once in a while. In addition, he wore little socks, and a pair of soft gloves, to protect others from his freezing grip, especially after he gave one guard severe frostbite. It reminded him uncomfortably of what had happened to Bellinda's hand.

A'kathci mounted his horse, tucked Nicivian close to his chest, and pressed a little kiss to Nicivian's lips. "We're going home now princeling." Nicivian was too tired and cold to care.

.

It took several days to reach Sanor, the capitol of the Orcish realm of Shihor. Nicivian was always bundled up in soft furs. A’kathci kept him as warm and comfortable as he could, but Nicivian was still haunted by his dreams: the terrible voices of his sisters, trying to convince him to give up his newfound magic. The feeling of his throat freezing shut, and snowflakes dropping from his lips when he tried to speak. And the horrible, terrible, petrifying feeling of a malicious gaze behind him.

Only now, Tara wasn’t there to help him.

He had been forcibly shaken awake every night by A’kathci, when the ground began to freeze and grow cold, and snow fell in heavy drifts on cold winds. Many of A’kathci’s men were muttering about curses and ill omens.

Nicivian clung to A’kathci tightly the entire journey. He knew what happened to cursed children and ill omens. A’kathci thought he was being ridiculous, but he was enjoying being depended on, Nicivian could tell.

Maybe a little too much.

Several times, Nicivian had ended up with A’kathci’s fingers in his mouth when they stopped to make camp. “I’ve seen little shtivis suck on their fingers when they’re nervous,” the orcish king had explained, rather smugly, as he watched Nicivian try to speak around the two large fingers in his mouth, “so I thought my little shtivi might like to too.”

_You mean you want me to,_ Nicivian thought, rather disgruntled at having two fingers shoved in his mouth. Just two of A’kathci’s fingers completely filled his mouth, and left him no room to talk. His jaw was opened too far for him to really bite down on the fingers, and he had the suspicion that A’kathci wouldn’t be all that pleased if he did bite his fingers, anyways.

So, he would begrudgingly suck on A’kathci’s fingers, and turn pink when he couldn’t quite keep himself from drooling a little around them. Like now. They were almost to the capital, and, according to A’kathci, they would reach the city by tomorrow afternoon. He was sitting in A’kathci’s lap, while one of the guards was making up dinner over a little fire.

And sucking on A’kathci’s fingers.

"Look at you, Ciru'nar! Sucking on my fingers," A'kathci chuckled, "It feels so nice, huh? It feels nice for me too. With your warm little tongue, and your pretty lips. You couldn't speak even if you were able to, could you darling? Makes me wonder.." Nicivian shivered at the look in his golden eyes. It was all too similar to the looks the guards gave him before he was grabbed, pinched, groped, or worse. 

The fingers were slipped from his mouth, and Nicivian was scooped up. A startled shower of ice crystals fell from his lips, and hoarfrost coated the ground where Nicivian had previously occupied.

A'kathci carried the squirming elf to a spot in the pine trees that was relatively far away from the camp, enough so that they had privacy, but were not out of screaming distance. "I think this is good enough," he declared, and shrugged Nicivian to the ground. The former prince gasped as he hit the ground, a dusting of snow appearing where he connected with the ground. He would have shrieked, but ice still froze his voice, as it had every day since his nightmares had started. As it was, he could already feel a bruise blossoming on his leg. Nicivian rubbed his thigh, annoyed.

A clink startled him, and he stared in growing horror as A'kathci's belt fell from his hips, and as he unlaced his breeches. The terrified elf tried to get away, only to back into a tree. No sound left his lips as panic grew in his chest. The ice was not helping him, he realized, when he began to feel cold inside. It thought he was in the nightmare, and therefore refused to come out, when he desired nothing more than for ice to pierce A'kathci's face. It was the eyes, something whispered, those golden eyes that made him feel small and trapped. 

They were eerily similar to the ones that haunted his dreams, that same something whispered, the terrible gaze that wanted his power, and his soul. The thing Tara had fled from.

How he knew this, he did not know. Maybe the ice knew. 

Regardless, A'kathci's eyes pierced him, and froze him to the spot. 

"I've been waiting to do this for so long, shtivii," the orc crooned, one large hand fisting in Nicivian's long iridescent black hair, and the other pulling the largest cock Nicivian had ever had the displeasure of seeing; and he had seen quite a few, unfortunately.

It was erect, so thick both of Nicivian's hands wouldn't fit around it, and was at least eleven inches long. It went from the same inky black as the rest of A'kathci at the base, faded through grey towards the tip, where it became a livid purple. Thick veins spiderwebbed the entirety of it, and disappeared into a thick nest of white hair at A'kathci's pelvis. It terrified Nicivian. Was that supposed to fit _inside_ him?!

Almost as if he read Nicivian's mind, A'kathci sighed rather theatrically, and took Nicivian's chin in his hand, rubbing his cheekbone languidly with his thumb. "I wanted to fuck you good and proper you know. But I don't think you can handle that right now, can you?" He didn't give Nicivian a chance to answer, as the languid rubbing turned into a bruising grip on Nicivian's cheeks.

Silently whining, Nicivian's mouth was pried open, and he was immediately slammed onto A'kathci's cock, gagging and scrabbling at A'kathci's hips, unable to breathe. Tears formed in his eyes; he wasn't even halfway down, and he was suffocating. 

Mercifully, A'kathci pulled him back, so only the tip was in his mouth. "If you bite me Ciru'nar," A'kathci hissed, "or if you use that magic of yours on my cock, I will beat you bloody and let my guards do what they want to you."

And then the grip on Nicivian's hair became painful as A'kathci began thrusting into his mouth, moaning as Nicivian's throat spasmed when the taste of pre coated his tongue and throat. "Your mouth is so perfect Ciru'nar," A'kathci groaned, and Nicivian began to see spots. He hadn't been allowed to breathe yet, and he was in danger of fainting. His jaw hurt, his scalp hurt, and he could feel his throat bulging slightly as it was forced to take A'kathci's length. 

Nicivian's nose was pressed into the nest of white curls at A'kathci's pelvis, and he could hear A'kathci panting, his hand tightening further in Nicivian's hair. The poor elf was certain it was over, and then A'kathci swelled further in his mouth. Short blunt nails clawed at black skin as his jaw was stretched to it's very limit, before his mouth and throat were completely overwhelmed with the taste of hot, salty, and bitter cum he was forced to swallow, or he would choke. It didn't stop for a full minute, and when he was finally released, he had no strength to keep himself upright, held up only by A'kathci's hand on his hair, and a bit of A'kathci's cum slid down his chin, coating his lips. 

He was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, and he just laid there, unable to move. He had just been raped. It was the only think Nicivian could thin of. "Can't move, huh Ciru'nar?" A'kathci cooed, and there was an unmistakable undertone of smugness as he scooped a limp Nicivian up into his arms. "Don't worry, I'll carry you back. Then we can eat some tasty food, if you aren't to full already."

Nicivian just let himself be carried and fed. It didn't matter anyways; he was going to get fucked, be it in the mouth or the ass. So why bother struggling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me happy! I love reading your comments, and I enjoy replying to them.


End file.
